


Each Star's a Fire, and Every One a Sign

by BurningSilence



Series: Saga of the Sauveterres [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Sexual Harassment, because i clearly don't have enough to work on, but nothing happens, novelisation of the Shivering Isles questline, prequel to Fortune's Favorite, the prequel no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningSilence/pseuds/BurningSilence
Summary: Felicienne Sauveterre booked her passage to the Imperial Province, but the journey doesn't go as smoothly as she would have liked and she finds herself thrown in a prison cell and the witness to an emperor's assassination. Uriel Septim's final wish for her to deliver the Amulet of Kings to Chorrol had to have been a mistake; she was a nobody. Now a penniless urchin who can't even read Cyrodilic, she's no worthy knight or pilgrim, or even a very impressive sorcerer.She blamed his last unfortunate decision on the blood loss.





	Each Star's a Fire, and Every One a Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I know I'm in the middle of While Kicking and Biting, but I've been working on this little thing as well and wanted to finally post it, because I feel like the Oblivion fandom doesn't get enough love. I also just really enjoy writing for Oblivion and wanted to include the Shivering Isles in the main story, but I thought it would make it far too long. 
> 
> If anyone wants, feel free to check out my blog [Burning Silence on Tumblr](burningsilence.tumblr.com)

**3E 433, 21st of Last Seed**

 

They’d been at sea for days now, and Felicienne Sauveterre felt like climbing the walls of her cabin. She supposed she ought to be grateful that Uncle Gwenael had been willing to part with a fair few septims to help book her passage to the Imperial province. Not an ideal course of action, but preferable to being turned away entirely. She wrapped her threadbare blanket around her skinny frame and sniffled and rubbed at her throat, in the dip where her collar bones met, and squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed her face against the straw mattress and breathed in the dust and damp hay and felt the scratch of the roughspun sheet against her smudged cheeks. The ship gave another lurch and she watched her lantern swing precariously in its spot above the pine night stand, flames flickering and sputtering against the jarring motion and she watched haphazard shadows skitter across the wooden beams above her bed. 

 

One of the crew had told her that choppy waters and a storm system would delay their trip by a week or so, as they couldn’t dock in Anvil per the original plan. They’d have to take the longer way around the continent, through Topal Bay and the Niben, and into the Imperial City docks. She’d shrugged at the news then, because at least she’d have a better chance of finding some sort of employment, but her confidence waned when she realized that would mean Imperial legionnaires instead of the normal city watch. She rolled over and glanced at her satchel and frowned, tugging the blanket along with her, and she sighed; she would just have to stay out of sight until she established herself in the province.

 

* * *

 

**3E 433, 27th of Last Seed**

 

Late in the night, the captain informed the crew and passengers that they would be docking in the port in a matter of minutes. The path up the Lower Niben had been stressful at best, and Felicienne was glad to hear that they’d made it through to the Waterfront even as she stumbled out of bed in the early morning hours, scrambling to dress in her oversized breeches and linen shirt. She bound her knotted hair and shoved her feet into worn leather boots and gathered her things. She didn’t want to stick around to answer any questions about papers or housing.

 

When the ship settled in the docks, things grew still, even the rumble of the sailors halted, and Felicienne felt her stomach clench. She clutched her bag to her chest and sat back on the scratchy mattress and waited, her chest tight and breath shallow until she heard shouts coming from above. 

 

Before she understood what happened, guards poured into the cabin and a couple kicked her door in. 

 

“Get up,” one of the men shouted at her.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” she demanded and made no movement.

 

“I said get up right now on your own or be forced,” he responded, his hand on the hilt of his longsword and she let her hands frost over, holding them in front of her.

 

“Fucking Bretons,” his companion grumbled as he drew his sword. “This is your last warning: come peacefully or be forced.”

 

“Just tell me what the hell is going on?” she demanded but didn’t drop her hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

 

The first guard glared, keeping his hand where it was without drawing his weapon, and sighed. “We’ve received reports of smugglers making their way through the Waterfront; this vessel is being investigated for carrying skooma on board. Now come with us.”

 

Felicienne’s face crumpled. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even know anything about this.”

 

The two guards shared a look. “Where are you travelling from?” the second questioned. 

 

She swallowed, finally lowering her shaking hands, and she exhaled. “High Rock,” she told them. “I’m coming from High Rock.”

 

The first man grinned. “Then I imagine you have all the of the necessary paperwork and this has all been a big misunderstanding. I mean, you wouldn’t be travelling on a suspected smuggling ship without the proper forms to enter Cyrodiil, now would you?”

 

Her eyes watered and she blinked the moisture away, finally extinguishing her hands, as she rubbed her face so hard she felt the scrape of the linen along her jaw and cheek. “Please,” she tried, “I really don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have any money; just let me leave.”

 

“Come with us,” he ordered. “And don’t make it difficult on yourself; you’re in enough trouble as it is.”

 

“But I didn’t do anything!” she shouted.

 

The second guard grabbed her arm and she struggled with him. “Entering the province illegally, as part of a suspected skooma smuggling ring no less, resisting arrest. Miss, I think you’re in enough trouble.”

 

His hands tightened around her upper arms and she winced, but continued to squirm and kicked his shin, scrambling away from him only to be caught around the waist by his senior partner and she lashed out with her frostbolt only to be slapped across the face by a heavy gauntlet. She collapsed to the ground as stars exploded behind her eyes and the cabin spun for a moment. The sound of other guards entering the narrow space stomped on the rushing in her ears and she heard a couple laughs emanate from the newcomers.

 

“What’s this?” one asked. “Having trouble wrangling a ninety-pound girl by yourselves?” the same voice questioned, chuckling and she bristled as her vision cleared. 

 

“Yeah, well,” the first man grumbled, “she’s a mage, apparently. And a scrapper.”

 

The third man hauled her up like a ragdoll and she swung at him with an icy palm. “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked while she thrashed in his hold, “I will fuck you up,” she warned.

 

“Alright,” the man said, “that’s enough out of you,” and he wrenched her arms behind her and she went limp, feeling her shoulders strain too much, the bones and cartilage grinding against each other as he bound her hands at the wrists. “That’s it, nice and easy,” he said. He turned back towards his friends and laughed again. “I like her; she’s feisty,” he said, and reached down to slap her buttocks. She flinched and tried to smash the back of her head against his nose but he grabbed her hair too quickly and she cried out. “None of that now. Just come with us and we’ll get you booked.” 

 

“I didn’t do anything,” she insisted. “I just want to leave.”

 

“Well, I suppose you should have thought about that before you tried to freeze my friends’ bollocks off,” the arresting guard told her.

“They should have kept their damn hands off of me!”

 

“You’ll have time to think about that in your new prison cell, then,” he said as he pulled her out of the cabin, the other soldiers following behind them and she heard them jeer and joke with each other as she slipped along the slick surface of the wooden planks that led from the ship to the dock.

 

She stumbled with them until they reached a cart that wound its way around the city isle until they reached what Felicienne assumed was the prison district. She didn’t see what happened to the rest of the people aboard the ship, and felt a prickle at the base of her skull when the guard who bound her slid a bit closer to her, their thighs touching. She attempted to scoot away, and her stomach rolled over when she heard his laughter. He placed his hand on her thigh. “Now, don’t worry too much about what’ll happen,” he murmured, his thumb drawing small circles on the slender limb. “You just serve your time and don’t make trouble,” he chuckled, and then squeezed his hand. “Maybe I’ll even pop in to visit you one of these days.”

 

She turned her face away and clenched her jaw. 

 

They pulled up to a large structure--the prison, she imagined--and he dragged her out of the cart and pushed her up the steps and into the building, where she was stripped--and groped--and redressed in rough rags and led down a corridor that grew darker the longer they walked. They came to a damp cell at the very end, a small window near the top that showed the just-brightening sky, still grey with pre-dawn light, and the guard shoved her in and unbound her wrists. 

 

“How long am I here for?” she asked, her little hands clutching the bars in front of her after they shut the door. 

 

“Well, that’s hard to say,” he said, grinning down at her. “You didn’t exactly come quietly. But tell you what,” he drawled, and she took a step back from the door as she felt her stomach knot, and his eyes lingered on her hips. “I might put in a good word for you. In a bit. How about that?”

 

She glared and crossed her arms in front of herself and he chuckled. 

 

“I’m on leave for the next couple of days, but when I get back you’ll be the first cell I check on. You know, to make sure you’re settling in alright.” 

 

Felicienne turned away from him, staring ahead at the window above her and heard his laughter bounce off of the stone walls and dissipate along with his footsteps down the dank hallway and she let her shoulder slump, the tension draining from her spine when she heard the click of the door that led to the office, and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and shut her eyes, feeling the building pressure of saline behind them. She sniffled once and let out her breath in small hitches, the cold of the cell finally seeping into her threadbare clothing. 

 

She walked to the corner near the window and curled up in a ball, hugging her bony knees to her body and tucking them under her chin, and she felt her lids tug down, the adrenaline from before seeping out of her and into the rocky surface that dug into her vertebrae and hip bones, stabbing and sharp, and let herself be carried under.

  
  
  


The first thing Felicienne became aware of was a rhythmic clanging that seemed to drift over from across the hall from her cell, and then the stream of bright light that dappled the ground in front of her. She blinked the haze from her eyes and stood on trembling legs while she stretched the stiffness from them, the damp having left cramps in her muscles over the few hours she’d slept. She rubbed her fists over her face, scrubbing the dried tracks of water that had trickled over her cheeks during her slumber, and she tilted her head from side to side, feeling her neck pop and the the blood rushed back to those spots, and she stumbled a bit but caught herself on the wall. She shook her head to clear it and peered out of her cell.

 

She caught the gaze of an older Dunmer in the cell adjacent to her and he leered, his vermilion eyes boring into her, and she heard him hum.

 

“Oh, what’s this? Pale skin, snotty expression…” he snapped his fingers, a grin stretching over his face, “I see, you’re a Breton, aren’t you? The Masters of Magicka?” He laughed and she sneered at him.

 

“Fuck off,” she snarled. “It’s been a long night.”

 

“Oh, I know,” he giggled and the sound grated on her ears. “I saw the guards haul you in earlier. Disrupted my sleep.” He licked his lips and pressed himself against the bars. “My, you are a pretty one. I think I can guess why that s’wit Apollonius has taken a shine to you.” She balked and took a step back. “Oh yes,” he crowed. “They always treat the pretty ones so well,” he drawled and his eyes darkened, “and you are so very pretty, aren’t you?”

 

“Shut up,” she stammered. “Just shut up and leave me alone.” Her stomach twisted and she wrung her hands in the hem of her shirt. 

 

“Aw, what’s the matter?” the elf cooed. “Afraid of the big bad guardsman? I’m sure he’d be extra nice to you, pretty. They’ll all be real nice to you.” And he licked his lips again and the Breton felt hot and dizzy and stamped down the bile rising in her throat. “But hey, if you’re that scared, why don’t I get one of the guards to put us together. One of them owes me a favor, and I could help to break you in, make it easier on both of you. You ought to have some fun before they toss your body in the lake, anyway. Might as well enjoy it.”

 

She felt her face blanche and her fingers began to tingle as the grew numb. Her knees buckled but they didn’t fold, and he chuckled again.

 

“Oh, are you upset? Well why don’t you try your magicka in here? Teach me a lesson. Oh,” he tsked, “it doesn’t work in here, does it?” He pinned her then, with his burning eyes and twisted smile, “You’re going to die in here, Breton. You’re going to die.” 

 

She jerked when she heard the door above slam open and muffled voices trickle down the corridor. 

 

“Do you hear that?” the elf continued. “The guards are coming. For you!” and he broke off into a peal of laughter that scraped against her ears and the inside of her skull. 

 

Rapid footsteps thundered in the stillness of the dungeon, and Felicienne strained to listen to the several voices that melded together, with one woman telling someone--a man named Baurus--to lock the gates and a softer, deeper timbre speaking out.

 

“My sons...they’re dead, aren’t they?”

 

“We don’t know that, Sire,” the same woman responded. “The reports only stated that they’d been attacked.”

 

“No, they’re dead. I know it,” the man insisted, and Felicienne swallowed and blinked a couple times, salt singing her irises. 

 

“We must keep moving, Sire.”

 

Felicienne saw the glow of torchlight grow brighter and brighter and she pushed herself against the wall behind her, biting her lip and her back drawn taught, the strain causing her limbs to tremble. Four people stopped outside of her cell, and she held here breath. There was a woman and two men in uniform--though she noted it wasn’t the usual city watch garb--and an elderly man in fine clothing, richly embellished. 

 

The woman looked at her and scowled. “What’s this prisoner doing in this cell?   
  


One of the men shook his head, glancing back at the woman, and stammered, “Usual mix up at the watch…”

 

She huffed. “Whatever, we need to get through here.” She turned back to Felicienne, her hand on the hilt of the katana strapped to her side. “Sand aside, prisoner. We won’t hesitate to kill you if you do not get out of our way.”

 

Felicienne scrambled back, towards the window, and kept her head down, watching her hands shake as they hung in front of her. Their footfalls padded along, scuffing about on the stone floor and dishevelling the dirty hay that littered the ground. She barely remembered to breathe.

 

“You,” she heard murmured in her direction, but kept her gaze downwards. “I’ve seen you. Let me see your face.” 

 

Just what she needed, she thought to herself, another pervert to paw and coo at her. She shuddered, but lifted her face to him anyway, steeling her jaw and pulling her shoulders back, standing as straight as she could. 

 

“You are the one from my dreams,” he told her and she fought a sigh. 

 

She should have just stayed in High Rock. 

 

She opened her mouth to tell him off, but his expression soured and he frowned, and she fell silent. “Then the stars are right, and this is the day,” he continued. “Gods give me strength.”

 

“Sire, please, we must keep moving,” the armoured woman insisted.

 

“What’s going on?” Felicienne asked, still under the elderly man’s eyes, and she shifted from side to side, tugging on the hem of her shirt and the sides of her breeches. The cold bit into her feet, magnifying the ache she held there. 

 

“Assassins attacked my sons,” he told her. “And I’m next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. One that, incidentally, is through your cell.” 

 

She frowned, ignoring the other three people in the room and their fidgeting. “Assassins? Who are you?”

 

A brief smile flashed over his features before he answered. “I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim.”

 

“Oh, shit,” she exclaimed, before her face heated and she buried it in her hands. “Oh.  _ Shit _ . I’m so sorry.” She heard him chuckle and felt a warm hand touch her shoulder.

 

“I assure you I have heard plenty worse in my youth, though not from such a young lady.”

 

Her face burned brighter as she took her hands away from it. “I’m older than I look,” she mumbled. “So, you’re the Emperor, then,” she finished, cringing.

 

He nodded. “By the grace of the gods, I have served Tamriel as her ruler. As a citizen of Tamriel, and will serve her too, in your own way.”

 

“I don’t think Tamriel would want the service of someone who’s landed themselves in prison,” she scoffed, drawing away from the man and keeping an eye on his guards. 

 

“Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet? Whatever it is you have done, it does not matter now. That is not what you will be remembered for.”

 

She fought back the urge to sigh and roll her eyes, and she folded her arms over her chest. “That sounds nice, but how should I go about it then?”

 

“We all have to walk our own paths,” he said, and she felt as though he may be chastising her. She looked down again, biting along the inside of her cheek. “You must take care of yourself,” he warned. “There will be blood and death before the end.”

 

“Sire, please,” the man this time, “we must move.”

 

The Emperor nodded, the corners of his mouth deeply creased and his brow furrowed, and Felicienne thought he seemed exhausted. She watched the woman push on a pad in the wall of her cell and a large slab of stone shifted, creating a doorway. Her mouth hung a bit open as she watched the group make their way through the new entrance. One of the men, a Redguard, turned back towards her and winked. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, prisoner. Just stay out of our way.”

 

She nodded at their retreating backs.

 

She gazed at the empty doorway for a moment, her eyes flitting back and forth between it and the cell door, and she rubbed her hands up and down her forearms, chasing the chill away.

 

“Well,” she breathed to herself, “my mother didn’t raise a fool, now did she?” And she stepped into the winding tunnel that led out of her cage, wincing at the mud that squished itself between her toes and the dubious squirming against the soles of her feet that she told herself was her imagination and nothing more. 

  
  


The tunnel opened up to a large antechamber that she briefly marvelled at before she caught up to them--more quickly than she thought she would--and she hung back in the alcove, trying to stay out of their sight when she saw them draw their swords. Men, dressed in armour she’d never seen before--though she thought it reminiscent of the designs that decorated the tomes on conjuration her father had collected--burst out from an unseen opening and brandished heavy maces. She almost shrieked when one of the men cracked the woman on the side of the head. A damp squelch rent the air and Felicienne felt the world tilt on its axis when the woman went down with a wet thump. She closed her eyes and looked away, breathing through her nose as she repeatedly swallowed mouthfuls of saliva. 

 

Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard Emperor Uriel ask about the fallen soldier--Captain Renault--to be told she’d died. When she chanced to peek around the pillar, red robed corpses clung to the ground along with unfortunate Captain Renault. As the footsteps of the dwindling party receded, Felicienne crept down from her hiding spot and approached the bodies. Her brow was damp with sweat and her dark hair stuck to the sides of her face and back of her neck and she crouched down to pick up the steel sword that Renault had dropped. She glanced around, but there were no other weapons besides Renault’s two swords. She frowned, and again, noticed the robes in lieu of the armour that they’d worn.

 

“Conjured,” she murmured, already feeling her arm ache with the weight of the sword. She needed to get out. She needed to get out and as far away from the Imperial City as she could get. 

 

She spied a crumbled section of wall that led to a narrow tunnel the appeared to extend farther, and she climbed up the broken rock and hoisted herself up into the damp burrow. 

 

* * *

 

“Damn it!” Felicienne winced at the shout and dropped her sword. “It’s that prisoner again. We should just kill her,” the Imperial said. “She could be working with the assassins.”

 

Felicienne held up her empty hands and took a step away from him as he advanced on her, his two companions hanging behind. “Wow, hey, what is this?” she panted. “Stab now, ask later? Do I look like an assassin?”

 

“She’s not one of them,” the Emperor called out and she nodded.

 

“See? What he said.”

 

The Imperial didn’t seem impressed but sheathed his sword and nodded. “As you wish,” he muttered, still casting a scowl her way and she ducked her head. 

 

The Emperor called out to her, “Come closer, please, I would prefer it if we did not have to shout.”

 

“Sire,” Baurus tried, “we really need to get moving. It’s not safe--”

 

“Let me rest for a moment longer,” the elderly man said, and Felicienne saw the grey tinge to his complexion and how is spine bowed. She dropped her gaze, but made her way to him as he requested. She padded up to him and he smiled down at her, wan and thin, and he patted her shoulder again. “They cannot understand why I trust you.”

 

“To be honest, that makes three of us,” she sighed, then jerked her head. “Er, um, Sire.”

 

He gave a brief chuckle, “Then how can I explain?” he asked. “Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?”

 

Felicienne winced, smoke and embers and soot choking her lungs and she let out a watery scoff. “I’m not too sure I’m on good terms with the gods these days.”

 

The Emperor frowned, the beads of sweat on his forehead catching the flames of the toch that one of guards held, and he told--chastised--her, “I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder... which sign marked your birth?”

 

She blinked and chewed on her bottom lip before she ventured an answer, “Mage, but on the cusp of Shadow,” she said, slow and quiet as she tugged on her sleeves. 

 

“This is the end of my path,” he mused, startling her with the change of topic. She frowned. “My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. However,” he smiled at her, again, his blue eyes glimmering, as he said, “your stars are not mine. But it is interesting. I wonder…” he trailed off and she frowned.

 

“What is?”

 

“Will the Mage illuminate your destiny, or will the Shadow hide you from its cunning claws. Perhaps time will tell.”

 

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she started. “I don’t think riddles are a good idea just now, and...I don’t really put a lot of stock into those sorts of things. Not anymore at least.” She shivered. “Aren’t...aren’t you afraid to die?” she asked.

 

He shook his head. “No trophies of my triumphs precede me, but I have lived a good life, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death...to face my apportioned fate, then fall.”

 

“Do...do you see anything for me?” she queried through a tightened throat.

 

“My dreams grant me no opinions of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied.” He straightened and gestured to Baurus and the other soldier, before holding her attention once again. “Come now, I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me, but you will follow me yet, for awhile. Then we must part ways.”

 

As the Emperor and the other Imperial began to make their way out of the corridor, Baurus stepped up alongside her and handed her a torch. “Just try to stay out of our way too much and don’t get yourself killed,” he said, but gave her a small wink that she returned with a shaky smile. She followed behind them, every sound causing her to jump and set her heart on fire as it battered around in her ribcage. 

 

They came to another corridor and the Imperial soldier held a hand up for them to stop, and Felicienne hopped on the balls of her feet. 

 

“Hold on, I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. I’m going to take a look on up ahead,” he informed them. 

 

Felicienne glanced around, and the soldier was right; it was quiet, like the whole subterrane held its breath and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled the skin there. She felt clammy and short of air, and tried to keep her sniffling down to a minimum. She peered back over to the Emperor and felt something twist in her chest at his posture. 

 

“You, er, I don’t know why you’ve pardoned me, but...I guess I want to say thank you,” she whispered to him. “I mean, you don’t know me. You don’t know what I did to be in here,” she muttered. “But...thank you.”

 

He regarded her and nodded. “I’ve seen enough of you to know that you have a good heart and deep reserve of strength. You will need that strength in the coming days.”

 

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but they were interrupted by the Imperial’s curse. “They’ve barred this door from the other side! It’s a trap!”

 

“What about that side passage there?” Baurus questioned, waving for Uriel and Felicienne to follow him.

 

“It’s worth a try,” the other man responded. 

 

They reached the passage and Felicienne’s heart sank upon seeing them surrounded by walls. “It’s a dead end,” she murmured. 

 

“Damn it,” Baurus growled. Then, they all snapped their attention to a door creaking open. “Stay here,” Baurus told Felicienne. “Glenroy and I are going to check that out. Guard the Emperor with your life,” he ordered before he followed his partner. 

 

Felicienne lifted the sword as best she could, her shoulder protesting against its usage, and her eyes darted around the empty space. From behind her, she heard the Emperor gasp and she whipped around.

 

“Your Majesty?” she asked.

 

“This is it,” he told her. 

 

“What do you mean?” she hissed. “Baurus and Glenroy will take care of whatever that is,” she waved with her sword in the direction they left, “and we’ll all get out of here in one piece.”

 

He smiled to her and shook his head. “It’s true,” he stated, “my guards are strong and brave, but even the might of the Blades cannot stand against the Power that rises to destroy us. The Prince of Destruction awakes, born anew in blood and fire. These cutthroats are but his mortal pawns. Take my Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. I have a secret son, and Jauffre alone knows where to find him. Find the last of my blood, and close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion.”

 

“Prince of Destruction? Secret son? What the hell is going on?” she tried to keep her voice from shrieking but the sound of it grated on even her own ears. “What amulet?”

 

“Give me your hand,” he ordered and she placed her trembling palm in his and he pressed a large jewel into it. “Take this, and give it to Jauffre. It must go to the last of the Dragon’s blood. Keep it safe from the pawns of the Destroyer.”

 

“So this is it then?” she sniffled, feeling herself flush, and her throat grew tight again.

 

“I’m afraid so. For me, at least, it ends here. It’s up to you to stop the blood-tide.”

 

“But...I’m nobody. No one of note. What could you possibly see in me?” she begged. 

 

“You may not be known, but you are not ‘nobody.’ Keep your strength, dear girl,” he told her. “You will need it, for the path ahead of you is bloody and dangerous.”

 

She slipped the amulet into her pocket, nodding, and turned her face to Uriel again, mouth open, a question on her tongue, when a spray of blood drenched her face and the front of her clothing. She staggered back, seeing the tip of a dark sword stick out of the old man’s chest, and tasted the metallic tang that lingered on her lips and tongue, its heat warming her face and dripping down her back.

 

And she screamed. 

 

“You picked a bad time to ally yourselves with the Septims, girl,” the assassin said.

 

She continued to stare at the gaping wound in Uriel’s chest, the sluggish pump of blood slowing and slowing and slowing until it stopped completely. Her fingers grasped at the handle of her sword and she felt hot tears blend with the blood that still stained her face. She swallowed, gulping some of that viscous fluid down with her saliva and it scorched her stomach. 

 

She felt him lung towards her and she conjured a frostball that she flung towards him, knocking him off his balance and he slipped backwards over the Emperor’s body. She brought her sword down on him, impaling his chest. 

  
  
  


Flesh was surprisingly fragile, even through the bones of the ribcage, when it was without the protection of heavy armour. The blade shuddered as it cut through tissue and cartilage, and the spray of blood this time avoided her. She thought that might be because he was prone while Uriel had been right in front of her. She watched the assassin gasp for a moment, shock colouring his otherwise pallid face and she felt hands on her shoulders. She jumped and spun around to find Baurus holding his hands up.

 

“Easy does it,” he said, his gaze skirting between her and the Emperor and she quivered.

 

“I tried,” she insisted. “I tried!”

 

“I know. I know you did. This isn’t on you. We failed,” he told her. She heard him swallow. “I failed. It’s the Blades’ duty to protect the Emperor above all else, and now he and all of is heirs are dead.” She watched him crouch down to the Emperor and saw him search his pockets. “The Amulet….where is the Amulet of Kings?”

 

“Oh,” she breathed, “this thing?” she asked, pulling it out of her pocket, staring off to the side. “He handed it to me. To give to Jauffre.”  

 

“To Jauffre? Why?”

 

“I guess there’s another son,” she murmured.

 

“Another son? I suppose...and if there is one, then Jauffre would know about him.”

 

“Who is Jauffre, by the way?”

 

“He’s the Grandmaster of my order,” Baurus informed her. “Though….you might not think it to look at him. He lives at Weynon Priory, near Chorrol. You’ll want to head out that way.”

 

She nodded. “I’m new to the area,” she mumbled. “I don’t know where to go.”

 

The Redguard rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. “Here, it’s a little old, but it’s my map of Cyrodiil. Got it when I first got out here from Hammerfell.”

 

She accepted it and her lips twitched at the corners. “Thanks.” Then she looked back up to him and felt her lips as they began to quiver again. “I mean it, thank you. You--” she sniffled and rubbed her eyes, the map crinkling in her grasp. “You don’t have to help me.”

 

“The Emperor saw something in you, and I can tell you’re not exactly a hardened criminal,” he said, giving her a small smile, despite everything that had happened.

 

She let out a watery laugh, blinking the veil that had fallen across her sight away. “What gave it away?”

 

“Just a hunch.”


End file.
